


f-stop

by pocketsfullofmice



Series: Screening Lavenders [3]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (though rather lowkey), Established Relationship, Fingering, M/M, Mild Power Play, PWP, Rimming, This is just smut, nothing else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-26
Updated: 2018-08-26
Packaged: 2019-07-02 19:33:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15803136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketsfullofmice/pseuds/pocketsfullofmice
Summary: Jonathan views the world through his photographer's eye, and all he sees is Steve. The colours of the setting sun dance upon his skin, and he aches to worship at his altar.





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**Author's Note:**

> Consider this a missing scene from my other Stonathan fic, [Screening Notes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15460278). It doesn't need to be read to understand this one, as this is just pure smut.

If Jonathan had to pick one part of Steve that he loved the most, it would be his skin. So many people would rave about his hair, how thick and lush it was, and the effort he put in styling it. While Jonathan would have to admit that yes, something was to be said about Steve's ridiculous hair, it didn't hold a flame to his skin. 

Steve was perpetually warm, his skin hot to touch, even in the dead of winter. His skin was soft and smooth, and wasn't covered in sticky and pungent chemicals, like his hairsprayed locks. A deep glow radiated from his skin, even as the sun hid behind clouds and hung low in the sky during winter. The freckles and moles that danced over his skin were a game of hide and seek, and Jonathan loved to join, playing connect-the-dots with his fingertips. Steve's back became home to constellations of stars, within giraffes and flowers and crawling insects. The patterns would disappear under his clothes, and it would be Jonathan's job to find them. 

The early spring sun had brought with it longer days. Jonathan's bedroom window was positioned in such a way that during the first days of March the sun would set between the twisted branches of the copse of trees on the fence line. His room would fill with a stream of colours, orange and pink and red. There was a small wind chime his grandmother had bought him years ago, which he'd deliberately hung up in front of the window just so that during those few weeks, he'd get to see the colours catch on the stained glass that dangled down from it. It would dance across his wall like a kaleidoscope of broken fragments.

Steve was standing in front of it that afternoon. The light was playing across his face, reds passing through shards of blue to become purple. Pink light cascaded over his cheek and throat, while yellow caught in his hair. He wasn't doing anything in particular; his arms were above his head and his shirt was riding up around his navel, revealing miles of tanned skin with a smattering of hair that disappeared under his jeans. Jonathan's fingers itched to take a photo, even as Steve's arms dropped back down to his sides and he turned to look over at him.

'What?' Steve asked, tilting his head a little when he saw Jonathan smiling at him. 'What is it?'

Jonathan smiled and shook his head. 

'Nothing,' he said, and then, because it wasn't quite true, 'everything.'

He took a step towards Steve. One, two, three, five, nine, ten, until he had crossed the room and was standing beside him. The colours continued to dance over his face, each freckle and mole that lived on Steve's cheek and neck seeming to be so much darker as a result. Reaching up, Jonathan's fingers brushed over each one, until two fingers were on his jaw, another two on his neck. Steve's eye twitched a little; he never quite seemed to know how to respond when Jonathan was studying him, gazing upon him with his photographer's eye.

'What- '

Steve started to speak, but his words were cut short when Jonathan lifted his chin up and licked at two of the lowest freckles, which sat high on his throat, just under his jaw. He could feel Steve take a breath and swallow against his tongue as he drew a line from one freckle to the next. Dropping his hand, he carefully pushed Steve's hair back behind his ear and took a step around him. He kissed each freckle and mole as he moved in a lazy arc, feeling Steve shiver against his mouth and hand until he was pressed up behind him. There were more freckles here, often hidden by his hair and collars that he wore popped up. Pushing his long hair up and collar down, Jonathan kissed them all.

Standing behind Steve, Jonathan could look straight through the stained glass wind chime and through to the sunset outside. The colours collected on Steve's face and shirt, a radiant hue that resembled a rainbow that Jonathan found himself tracing. He followed the cut of one pane of glass across Steve's cheek, another down the front of his throat. His fingers ghosted over the cotton of his shirt, until he worked his way down to the hem. Taking hold of it, he pulled it up. Steve's arms lifted obediently, until it was pulled clean off and tossed aside.

Both hands slid over Steve's body. He could feel Steve's weight shift backwards, until he was leaning against Jonathan, his head turning so his breath was warm against his ear. Unlike his back, Steve's chest wasn't covered so thoroughly in freckles. Even so, his skin was still a deep, olive tan, and it was enough to have Jonathan scratching his nails over it. Steve shuddered against him, a small rasp passing his lips as he pressed back against him. Warmth flooded through Jonathan, his mouth searching out each freckle that marked Steve's back and shoulders.

Down he went, leaving a trail of kisses in his wake. His hands ran down Steve's front, tracing his sternum, his ribs, over this belly and to the waistband of his jeans. As he lowered onto his knees, he moved around again, until he was back in front of Steve. The sun had started to set deeper into the sky, and when he looked up, Steve was awash in deep blues and purples. Both hands rested on Steve's stomach as he watched him, his mouth close to the front of his jeans.

'Jonathan- '

At the sound of his name, Jonathan swiped his tongue along the metal line of Steve's fly. He always tucked to the right, and Jonathan could feel it as he traced the length of Steve's cock with his mouth. Batting his eyes shut, he dropped his hands to Steve's hips and held him still as his tongue ran over him. Slow and deliberate, his head tilted to the side as he felt Steve's cock twitch and start to swell. Steve was always so responsive, particularly when Jonathan took his time like this.

'Jon- '

'Sit down on the bed.'

Before Steve could follow the instruction, Jonathan tugged at his fly. Pulling at the button and zip, he forced the jeans down. They were tight- Steve's clothes were always so tight- but with a firm yank, they ran down his hips. Steve fell backwards, until he was laying on the bed. With his legs up, Jonathan was able to pull his jeans clean off. They landed in a pile somewhere on Jonathan's floor, discarded and of no longer interest. Steve's briefs were next, black with a white elastic waistband, the name of the designer emblazoned on them, because of course he wore designer underwear.

There was always a moment, right before Jonathan would pull the last of Steve's clothes off, where he'd see him shiver. Jonathan would watch as Steve's skin prickled in a display of goosebumps. His hips would rise up and his eyes would widen, as though not quite believing his luck. It forever made Jonathan feel powerful, to be the one causing Steve to have that look, to be encouraging him to buck and arch like that. It was a point of pride to be the one that turned Steve on, to make him ache and long for him.

'Jonathan- _fuck_ , Jonathan- '

He was already hard. Settling on his knees between Steve's legs, Jonathan ran his hands along his inner thighs. They skittered over his soft skin, moving higher until he traced them back down. The skin on Steve's inner thighs was soft and delicate and covered in more freckles than most people would have realised. Jonathan loved to run his tongue along his thighs, taking in the expanse of skin that was his alone to adorn with kisses. As he did so, Steve gasped and his muscles twitched, a leg hitching up to hook a leg over Jonathan's shoulder. A hand was delved into his hair, and Jonathan had to resist the urge to laugh. He was gorgeous. Beautiful and gorgeous and his and so utterly turned on that Jonathan couldn't help but give a small moan himself as his head was guided, if a little roughly, towards Steve's hard cock.

'Manners,' Jonathan chided, partly joking.

' _Please_ ,' Steve begged. 

His voice was desperate; needy with a touch of roughness. Jonathan loved it. When Steve tugged again, he allowed himself to get tipped forward. His mouth was already open, tongue out as he ran it along the side of Steve's cock. The head, already slightly damp with a bead of precome, rubbed against his cheek. Steve shivered and hissed in anticipation. For a reason Jonathan couldn't quite understand, as he didn't like it himself, Steve loved the feeling of stubble against his cock. He'd rub his palm along Jonathan's unshaved cheeks in the morning with an anticipatory smile, and start needling him, trying to nudge him down under the sheets. Although Jonathan often had to leap out of bed to get breakfast going, some mornings he'd indulge himself (and Steve) and allow himself to get coerced down under the blankets.

There was no pretending this time, though, and no joking around. Jonathan wanted him as much as Steve did. With a quiet moan, he parted his lips and wrapped them around the head of Steve's cock. The soft, velvety skin rested upon his tongue. The foreskin that covered the head of his cock was already pulled back, revealing the salty tip, already a deep red. Jonathan's hands slid up and down Steve's inner high, one slipping just a touch higher to cup at his balls. With a whimper and a writhe, Steve's legs shifted up and spread wider, until he had one foot resting on Jonathan's shoulder.

Steve loved to beg. It had been something surprising Jonathan had learned about him, along with the fact he wore glasses, that he liked mint and chocolate together but not caramel and chocolate, and that he always put his left shoe on before his right. Jonathan hadn't needed to coerce Steve into begging. He had done it of his own accord, once they had found the rhythm in their sexual relationship. It was so wonderful to hear, though, and Jonathan couldn't help but moan when Steve begged again, despite it being unnecessary.

'Please, Jonathan, _please_. It feels so good.'

There was no way Jonathan could turn him down when he sounded like that. Steve knew it, too, and took advantage of it. He was writhing on the bed, scooting up further as Jonathan let his cock fall from his lips and went about peeling off his socks and loosened his jeans. Unlike Steve's that had to be dragged off, Jonathan's own baggy pair were easily kicked around his ankles. Yanking his shirt off, he tossed it into some corner of his room, to be found days later when his mother was doing the laundry. All that mattered right then was crawling on top of Steve, a devilish grin on his face as Steve began to shiver and squirm underneath him. 

' _Want_ ,' Steve choked out, arching upwards.

'What do you want?'

Steve's eyes fluttered shut. Rolling his hips up, Jonathan felt Steve's cock, hard and hot like a brand run across his hip. He was always so needy and desperate. Curling his fingers around it, he stroked his hand slowly, up and down. It was still partly slick with spit, which eased Jonathan's grip as he ran it up and down. Slowly and slowly, until Steve was melting back on the bed, his lips parted and his chest heaving as he wriggled underneath him.

'More?' Jonathan prompted.

Steve nodded.

'You gotta use your words, Princess.'

The pet name was a continuous source of contention. Whenever Jonathan uttered the nickname, a perverse twist on the King title that had been bestowed upon an unwilling Steve while he was a sophomore, he would be met with a slight glare and lips in an irritable moue. But when it was drawled in Steve's ear as he stretched out on the bed, his cock in Jonathan's hand, desire dripping from his skin, it was responded to differently. He'd nod and mewl, much as he was now, his body rocking up to roll into the fist that was wrapped around his cock.

' _Please_ ,' he begged sweetly. He groped blindly until his fingers brushed over Jonathan's lips. 'I want your mouth on me.'

Each finger was given a small kiss, a swipe of his tongue. In turn, Jonathan was rewarded with a desperate writhe as Steve rocked up into his hand. The motion had Jonathan's cock running across his thigh, hip and up to his belly. It was gorgeous to witness, but even more wonderful to feel. Moaning quietly, Steve gave him a desperate look. Jonathan knew what Steve wanted, and he knew it was something he could never ask for by name, too bashful to utter it. Although he'd never force it or make Steve get the words out, Jonathan loved to see him squirm and struggle with saying it.

'God, _please_ ,' Steve mumbled, a hand over his face as Jonathan's fingers danced up his cock and rolled back his foreskin. 'Don't make me say it, Jesus, don't- '

Laughing, Jonathan gave Steve's wrist a squeeze. Batting open his eyes, Steve pouted up at him and gave a desperate, breathless puff. Shaking his head, Jonathan gave him a quick kiss on his lips and nudged his shoulder. Scrambling up the bed, Steve flipped over, his face pressed into the mattress as he pawed at the blankets.

It was luscious, seeing Steve like this. When they had been at school together, Jonathan would watch him prowl the corridors. There was an energy to him, a majesty that Jonathan envied and loathed. Steve had emulated everything Jonathan hated about popular society. The charisma, the manipulation of popularity. Jonathan had wanted to hate him, and he'd tried. Even as they'd grown closer, and the relationship had moved from uneasy acquaintances to careful friends, he'd still partly held out hope that he could bring himself to hate him.

But now, he wouldn't trade it for anything. There was Steve, former cock of the walk of Hawkins High, spread out on his hands and knees on his bed. His skin was hot to touch, and he trembled as Jonathan ran his hands over his back and hips and ass. The colours of the sun had faded to a deep orange, the last catches of light filtering through and causing Steve's skin to take on a faint blush. Digging his nails in, Jonathan ran them up his spine and caught the freckles on his shoulders.

'Please, Jon, I _need_ it,' Steve begged again, straining backwards on his knees as he lifted his ass towards him.

'I bet you do,' Jonathan replied, skimming a hand over the lights that still coloured Steve's skin. 'But how much?'

Steve made a noise of frustration. 'A lot.'

'And how much is a lot?' Jonathan asked with a snicker.

Steve turned to look over his shoulder and furrowed his brow. His cheeks had turned red, his eyes almost black with his blown pupils. Jonathan could damn near smell the arousal wafting off him. He rocked back and forth, rutting lazily. It was an action Jonathan had come to recognise; when Steve was needy and positioned like this, he'd take the opportunity to find anything to rub against. His belly and thighs, the bed, even the side of his wrist if his arm was in the right position. 

'God, you're a fucking ass,' Steve grumbled, before sliding back down a little.

Smirking to himself, Jonathan peppered a few kisses down Steve's back. He always bitched when nudged to describe what he wanted, though there was never any heat behind it. Steve was chatty, even during sex, and he grew easily frustrated when Jonathan teased him. The mumbling died away the further Jonathan kissed down his back, though, following the curve of his spine until he hit the small of his back. The grumble turned into a soft, breathy moan, as Jonathan finally hit the curve of his ass.

He started with a swipe of his tongue in a line, down between Steve's cheeks. Just one, just to feel the shiver that titillated Steve's spine. Then a second and a third, both in quick succession. Splaying his hands over each cheek, Jonathan bowed his head and gave another swipe over his hole, tight and pink and waiting for it. Steve bucked back and gave a small yelp of pleasure, before Jonathan heard him smother his mouth in the crook of his elbow and moaned low. His flavour was stronger here, the salt of his skin concentrated until it was almost tart. It was still so utterly Steve, though.

The first time they had tried this, Steve and shouted and wriggled away, confused by what had happened. Hell, Jonathan couldn't even say why he'd done it, only that he loved Steve's skin and wanted to taste it, all of it. The idea of it being dirty or filthy hadn't ever occurred to him, though for Steve it seemed to be part of the appeal. He'd writhe and squirm and beg quietly for more, all without saying what it was that he loved. If Jonathan ever spoke of it by name and described how he responded to it, Steve would turn red and hurry onto the next topic. That was right up until they were naked and pressed against one another again, and he'd side-step around the topic while asking, as he always did, for more.

Jonathan loved the idea of being the only one to do this to Steve, too. Curling his fingers into each of Steve's cheeks, he ran his tongue against his hole. He could feel Steve shivering with each run of his tongue, a small yelp coming from him as Jonathan's fingers pinched and dug into his skin. There was a moan, a twitch, a small cry, until Jonathan pushed his tongue inside. This was new; often he stuck to just running his tongue over it, kissing it, listening to all the noises that Steve made as he kicked and wriggled against the bed.

Not now. An arm shot out and curled against the pillow, almost knocking it clean off the bed. With a guttural noise, Steve arched up and pushed back. Gripping him by the hip, Jonathan held him steady as he did it again, humming a little in delight as he watched Steve throw his head back and let out a slow, drawn out moan. Lifting his head, Jonathan laughed softly and ran his fingers over the spit-slick hole. His tongue plunged in, feeling how tight and hot he was, how he clenched around him. He could almost feel his moans, the vibration of it ricocheting through his body as he bucked and twisted, caught between begging for more and needing to pull away as it was too much.

'Like that?'

With a whimper, Steve nodded his head. The light had begun to fade from the room, and Steve was becoming cast in shadows. The angles of shoulder blades were darkened, the freckles blending in with the blackness of the night.

'Turn on the light. I want to see you.'

As though moving through molasses, Steve pushed up and groped about for the lamp by Jonathan's bed. He smacked the dresser, the alarm clock, and sent a book falling to the floor. Finally, the hit the lamp and the room filled with a dim, yellow light. Flopping back on the bed, he looked back over his shoulder at Jonathan. His face was red, his lips swollen and pink from where he'd been sucking on them. Pushing back, he whined as Jonathan ran his tongue over his hole again, before letting his fingers rub over it.

'Jonathan,' he groaned, trailing off as he bowed his head.

'Mm?'

'Feels good,' he slurred, resting his brow on his arm again. He didn't need to say it; Jonathan knew well by now how good it felt. 'More, please.'

Using his fingers was also new. Steve was so very tactile, and responded so gorgeously to Jonathan touching him here. The pads of his fingers pressed down on his hole, rubbing small circles as he spread his saliva over it. He teased him carefully, listening as the noises he made grew louder as he allowed the tip of his index finger to press inside. He was hot, always so damn hot, and he gave a deliciously loud cry as Jonathan's finger disappeared to the first knuckle. He could feel just how tight he was, and Jonathan ached to push his whole finger in. One day. Maybe, if he could actually work up the nerve to ask Steve if it was okay. Steve couldn't bring himself to ask Jonathan to use his mouth on him, and Jonathan had yet to get the courage to ask Steve if he could actually put his fingers fully inside of him.

'I'm close, baby. Fuck, I'm close.'

Hearing Steve announce it made Jonathan realise just how close he was, too. Groaning, he pulled his finger out and replaced it with his tongue. Shooting a hand down, he grabbed hold of his cock. He could see Steve's own between his legs, stroking himself. With a growl, Jonathan let go of his own cock, despite it desperately wanting to be touched, and pushed Steve's hand away. He'd rather take care of Steve than himself right then, anyway.

'That's it, Princess. I've got you. I've got you, good boy.'

With one hand holding his hip in place, and the other stroking him up and down, Jonathan lapped at him. It was noisy, filthy, and competing with the moans that Steve was making. Delving his tongue inside, Jonathan licked at him, over and over, until his tongue was working back inside. Each shudder signalled how close he was, his moans growing louder until his voice was cracking. He surged forward and back, until he was working himself on Jonathan's tongue and fingertip, both working his tight hole. Over and over, the heat between them growing until Jonathan felt him spilling over onto his hand and fingers.

'Fuck- fucking hell, Jon, oh, _Christ_.'

Jonathan ran his hand over Steve's length as his orgasm rocked through him. Smoothing a hand down his back, Jonathan massaged him slowly, soothing him until Steve's moans were nothing more than a needy whimper. Kneeling up high, he wrapped a hand around his cock, the same one that had been teasing Steve's hole, and began to stroke himself once more. Christ, he was hard. Incredibly and desperately so. Over and over, he ran his hand up and down, until he could surge forward and spill over the small of Steve's back.

The splatter of his come was like white freckles to match the dark brown that already marked Steve's skin. He made a constellation with his orgasm, an explosion of stars, a newly formed galaxy that would be wiped away in only a few minutes. Moaning Steve's name, the sound of it beautiful on his lips, he pressed a hand to the top of Steve's back and watched as his gorgeous body rutted underneath him.

Falling back, he landed to the side. With a push and a shove, he managed to crawl up until he was stretched beside him, an arm tossed above his head. They'd clean up soon enough. Jonathan would rinse his mouth out (he wouldn't expect Steve to kiss him, even if he did enjoy doing it), and he'd clean Steve up. For now, though, the two of them could just laze there, soaking in each other's company. 

In some ways, this was Jonathan's favourite part of it all. He could watch as Steve's skin went back to its usual complexion, a healthy tan instead of a pink and red flush. The freckles on his skin would turn from a deep black to a soft brown. He could take in and appreciate Steve's beauty without feeling the need to act upon it.

'What was that all about?' Steve asked, curling an arm underneath him and reaching out to hold Jonathan's hand with the other.

Jonathan just shrugged. Then, with a shrug, he cleared his throat and managed a reply.

'I just like seeing you light up, I guess,' he replied.

Steve smiled. Covering his mouth with his arm, he lifted his feet off the bed and crossed his ankles as he looked Jonathan over. The quiet was companionable, settling. Rolling onto his side, Jonathan tucked himself up around him and watched as Steve shut his eyes, a contented smile upon his face. The soft blush had begun to fade, and Jonathan traced the lingering remnants with his fingertips, watching as Steve's thick lashes teased his cheeks. Each freckle on his face was touched, each mole memorised, until he closed his eyes, too, and could count each one by heart.


End file.
